


The First Meeting

by TheSleeplessWriter



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Gen, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Kid John, Kid Sherlock, Pre-Series, School
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-18
Updated: 2017-11-18
Packaged: 2019-02-03 23:45:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 707
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12758721
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheSleeplessWriter/pseuds/TheSleeplessWriter
Summary: What if Sherlock and John had met years before, in the headmaster's office of their school?





	The First Meeting

His fists ached and his head felt cloudy; all the boy knew was that he was in quite a lot of trouble. He shouldn't have hit him. Muffled adult voices had grabbed him by the shoulder, hauling him off to the headmaster's office. Now he was dropped off in the waiting area, no one but a younger boy with dark, curly hair occupying the seats. 

The blonde boy shuffled into a seat, rubbing his shoulder and stretching his arm. That really had been quite the punch. His body felt sore from the bruises he tried so hard to hide as he shifted in his seat. His Da had drunk an obscene amount last night. 

The other boy stared hard at him, his eyes running up and down with scrutiny.

"So, what are you in for?" The blonde asked, desperate for some sort of conversation to pass the miserable waiting time. He sounded like a hardened criminal in prison instead of a worried twelve-year-old.

The brunette peered up at him, wild curls falling into his eyes. "When he wasn't looking, I stole the chemistry teacher's supplies and mixed hydrogen peroxide with potassium iodide. Made quite a big mess and now they're all cross." His light blue eyes twinkled with mischief, and he did not look the least bit repentant. 

"I know what you did." His voice was alight with excitement to show how clever he was. "Just by looking at you. You got in a fight with a boy, and you started it. Thrown the first punch, maybe the only punch.That's why he's not here. It must have been something he said." 

The blonde, puzzled, cocked his head to the side and lifted a brow. "How'd you know that. And what's your name?" 

"I'm Sherlock. And it's easy, I just have to look at you and pay attention. Look, your right knuckles is all red and you keep rubbing them. You must have hit him really hard." Sherlock pointed to the other's hand. 

"Huh. I'm John." He looked down and sure enough, his right knuckles were reddened. He looked back at Sherlock, who looked as if he could be in Year Four. He was skinny as a rake and rather short. "What year are you in?"

"I'm in Year Eight." Sherlock said proudly, crossing his arms. 

"No, you're not! You look like you're eight." John pointed out accusingly. He wasn't exactly chuffed to see such a young boy a year above him. 

"Shut up! I'm ten. Besides, if you payed attention, you would have noticed I'm taking Chemistry, which is only for those in Year Eight!" Sherlock retorted. He was rather insecure about his height; he had been short all his life and he was sick of it. His pale face flushed bright pink.

"Whatever, whatever. I guess you're just one of those wonder-kids who'll get into college at fourteen." John shrugged, looking off into the opposite corner of the room. 

The tap-tap sound of footsteps approached and Sherlock stood. He dug his hands into his pockets and looked back at John. "You shouldn't let him hit you. You're already taller than him and he's getting old." Sherlock said softly, turning to face the door.

John gasped and looked back at the younger boy. "How in the hell did you know that?" He had tried so hard to hide what his father did to him. He wore long-sleeved shirt with high collars and never wore shorts. 

"You've got a fist-sized bruise on your neck." John looked down and found the mentioned bruise peeking out from the edge of his collar. He brusquely pulled it up. "When you stretched your arm, I could see another on your arm. Odds are, it's your Da. He's not afraid of leaving bruises out in visible spots, so why hasn't he got you on the head? It's because he can't reach." Sherlock whispered, speaking rapidly as the door creaked open. 

"William Holmes?" A woman called out. 

Sherlock made a face at the name he obviously didn't like and marched towards the door. "Into battle." He mouthed.

John watched as the strange young boy walked out the room. He couldn't help but wonder what would become of him in the years to come.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! It's been some time since I've written a standalone one-shot, and it feels good to venture into this genre again.


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